


but here we are in the weeds again, here we are

by Autodidact, procrastinatingbookworm, spiraldistortion (bisexualthorin), Stacicity, Thetwistingdeceit



Series: Leto Does Podfic [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Faking Illness, M/M, Podfic, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, Poetry, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autodidact/pseuds/Autodidact, https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualthorin/pseuds/spiraldistortion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stacicity/pseuds/Stacicity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thetwistingdeceit/pseuds/Thetwistingdeceit
Summary: Barnabas Bennett comes down with a strange affliction for which there is only one cure.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonathan Fanshawe
Series: Leto Does Podfic [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890415
Comments: 13
Kudos: 30
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is some pure, silly, romantic fluff, brought to you by everyone in chat screaming about Jonathan Fanshawe writing Barnabas Bennett some poetry.
> 
> The first chapter contains the fic, written by me, Cat.
> 
> The second chapter contains the poem "roses, roses, roses," written by the incredible [Judie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/). The reading of the poetry was done by the amazing [Leto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autodidact/). And the cover art for the poetry recording was done by the wonderful [Dundee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dundee998).
> 
> The third chapter contains a "Sonnet from J.B.Fanshawe to B.Bennett" written by the brilliant [Elsie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stacicity/). The reading was done by [Leto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autodidact/) and the cover art was done by [Dundee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dundee998) and the fantastic [Jay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thetwistingdeceit).
> 
> The title is from Crush by Richard Siken.
> 
> Hugest thanks to the Jonah server!! <3

“Doctor Fanshawe, hello!” Barnabas says with his usual good cheer. He clasps Jonathan’s hand in both of his own, warm and inviting as always. “Mere words cannot express how good it is to see that handsome face of yours grace my doorstep.”

“Barnabas,” Jonathan says, bemused. “I came as soon as I received your letter.”

“Ah! I’m glad it found its way to you so quickly,” he says, drawing Jonathan through the front door and into the foyer. “Gladder still that it brought you to me with some haste. I thank you for taking the time to visit.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says. He eyes the man before him with curiosity as he shrugs out of his jacket. “You said there was some urgent matter…?”

“Ah, yes,” Barnabas says, turning away from Jonathan to hang his coat on the rack. He sighs heavily, shoulders slumping forward as he grips the collar of the coat. “I have found myself struck with the most peculiar of feelings, and I fear that I may have taken ill.”

Jonathan feels something clench tight in his chest, and he steps forward to lay a hand on Barnabas’ shoulder. “You didn’t mention _that_ in your letter. Tell me, what are the symptoms you’ve been experiencing?”

Barnabas turns to face him, mouth pressed into a grim smile. “I feel flush as if with fever, weak and wracked with shivers as my heart races in my chest. And the ache!” he exclaims, pressing a hand to his chest. “The aching in my chest has grown nigh unbearable, so all-consuming as it is.” Barnabas reaches out to clutch Jonathan’s hand in his own. “Oh, Doctor, you must help me.”

“Please, Barnabas,” Jonathan says, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I will do everything in my power, but first you must be calm.”

“That is much easier said than done! I fear that I am worsening, and at a rapid pace.” He presses Jonathan’s hand against his chest, flattens it over his heart. “Feel how my heart thuds and skips! Hear how my breathing grows shallow and ragged! What could this be, this thing that affects me so?”

Jonathan scoffs at Barnabas’ dramatics, but presses the back of his hand against Barnabas’ forehead. “It seems to me that you aren’t running a fever, but your heart is beating rather fast, I will admit. When did you begin to feel this way?”

“It is all a haze to me now, but if I recall correctly, it started on Thursday.”

“Thursday!” Jonathan exclaims. “That was two days ago now. Why have you waited until today to contact me?”

“What is time to a man so afflicted?” Barnabas sighs, tilting his head to allow Jonathan to press against his neck, feeling for swollen glands. “If I think back on it, though, I do believe this began shortly after I received that day’s post.”

“After the post?” Jonathan asks in alarm. He thinks of poisons, plentiful and cheap and widely available to those who sought them out. “Did you receive some suspicious letter or package?”

Barnabas presses a finger to his lips and looks thoughtfully up to the ceiling. “You know, I did receive one letter that day that I believe could have done this. I found myself quite suddenly short of breath and weak in the knees upon reading it, and I believe that’s when the palpitations started.”

Jonathan’s stomach knots in fear. Who would wish to hurt Barnabas? Kind, sweet Barnabas, who thought only of others, who only ever sought to bring laughter and light? Who could look upon that soft, round face, those wide blue eyes, that bright, gap-toothed grin and wish him harm?

Jonathan ushers Barnabas to the parlor to sit him down on the nearest settee. “Do you still have the letter?” Jonathan asks. “I should like to see it to determine if it was tampered with. But first I need to listen to your breathing and ensure that your lungs are clear.” He seats himself next to Barnabas and begins to pick at the knots of Barnabas’ cravat with nimble fingers.

“Why, Doctor!” Barnabas exclaims, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with mischief. “If my clothing was impeding your examination, you need only have said!”

“Barnabas, do be serious for a moment!” Jonathan snaps. He pulls the silk from Barnabas’ collar and clenches his fist around it to ease some of his frustration.

“I am quite serious, Doctor Fanshawe; deadly so, in fact,” Barnabas says. His smile slips into an exaggerated grimace and his eyes go misty. “I fear I shall never be the same.”

Jonathan has no time to say or do anything further before Barnabas throws himself backwards across his lap and lays the back of his hand against his forehead, the very picture of a dramatic swoon.

“So caught am I in the grip of this affliction, I can think of little else,” he says on a sigh. He closes his eyes and Jonathan watches as the corners of his mouth twitch, as if he were fighting back a smile.

“ _What_ has gotten into you, Barnabas?” Jonathan asks, exasperated. “First, you write me to say there’s something we need to discuss urgently. Then you tell me you are ill with some terrible disease. Now, you lay here as if this were some fainting couch against which you fell in a fit of the vapors instead of in actual sickness—"

“Oh, I am sick, my good doctor,” Barnabas says. He opens one eye to peek up at him, and he finally loses the battle against his emerging smile. “And I know well the cause: he is in this very room, sitting here beside me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Love, my dear Jonathan,” Barnabas says. He sits back up but remains close, slides a hand over Jonathan’s jaw to cup his cheek. “I am simply a man in love.”

Jonathan sputters for a moment, stuck somewhere between indignant disbelief and embarrassed fondness. “You horrible, ridiculous man,” he says, and though he imagines he should be angry—properly angry—with Barnabas, he leans into the touch all the same. “I cannot believe you.”

“No?” Barnabas asks, sweeping his thumb over the arch of Jonathan’s cheekbone. “I believe I am having an entirely reasonable reaction to being written about in such a lovely, romantic manner. Or am I to understand that you’ve very conveniently forgotten the contents of the letter _you_ sent me?

Jonathan cringes as he remembers his words. He had rather deliberately put the entire thing out of his mind after sending it off, lest he lose his nerve and chase down the postman to retrieve it back. He wonders briefly what he had been thinking, writing that—but one look at Barnabas and the soft expression on his face reminds him quite thoroughly of the inspiration for his flowery words.

“Barnabas…” Jonathan says, watching as he eyes his mouth.

He knows it’s coming, can see it written all over his face, but Jonathan still finds himself pleasantly surprised by the slide of Barnabas’ hand into his hair as he draws him down into a kiss. It’s soft and chaste and perfect; the sweetness of it fills Jonathan’s chest with a gentle, buzzing ache that he finds himself hoping will never leave him. Barnabas pulls back slightly, breath fanning against Jonathan’s chin as the moment lingers, gentle and quiet.

“You asked to see the letter earlier,” Barnabas murmurs against his lips, and Jonathan can feel his mouth curve into a grin. He leans back to watch Jonathan’s face as he reaches down into the pocket of his waistcoat, evidently enjoying whatever panic washes over Jonathan’s features. “I just so happen to have it on my person. Allow me to—”

“No!” Jonathan says, voice gone high with embarrassment. He darts a hand out to wrap around Barnabas’ wrist, keeping him from drawing it and what it holds out into the light. “No, please, Barnabas, have mercy.”

“Alright, alright!” Barnabas laughs. He leans down to nose along Jonathan’s jaw, presses his lips to the hinge of it. “Though perhaps now you understand why I have found myself stricken so—you know I am a sentimental man.”

Jonathan scoffs, but wraps his arms around Barnabas to draw him into his lap, closer against his chest. “I should say that ‘sentimental _fool_ ’ would be more apt,” Jonathan says, turning to kiss the palm Barnabas presses to his cheek. “Lovesickness…quite the diagnosis.”

“Tell me true, Doctor: is the prognosis grim?”

“Oh, very grim indeed,” Jonathan answers. The small, huffed laugh Barnabas breathes against his neck sets him to smiling, and he’s sure that Barnabas can hear it in his voice. “Few have ever been known to fully recover.”

Barnabas raises his head then, looking him in the eye as he holds Jonathan’s face gently in both hands.

“It is good, then, that I never wish to,” he says, and leans forward to press his mouth to Jonathan’s once more.


	2. Chapter 2

&;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt; [Download](https://www.dropbox.com/s/11x3fm50vgac1f7/roses%2C%20roses%2C%20roses.mp3?dl=0)

* * *

I crave you, the way the bumblebee  
craves the flower, in affection, desperation born  
from an intrinsic need. I find you, blossoming,  
open palms to the sky, offering so much more  


than nectar. I walk through a garden, and I  
see you everywhere. your broad hands in the leaves  
of the trees, your delicate touch in the softness of  
the lamb’s-ear. the way your tongue juts out in focus  


in the amaranthus. I crave the bouquet that is your  
many-layered nature, your sweet-smelling lavender  
and your pitcher-plant both. I would let you consume me,  
as quickly as I would devour you, keep you with me  


forever. I fear what I might find when I look past the blossoms;  
a crawling weed in the rose garden that is your smile, your roots  
entangled, strangled, enamoured. wherever I go to hold you  
I cut myself on his thorns, and nothing I say will convince you  


that you are lovely without his blooms alongside yours. I wish  
you could see what I see: ambrosia, carnations, tulips, and  
roses, roses, roses. believe me when I say you are lovely.  
I wish to walk in your garden every day.  



	3. Chapter 3

[Download](https://www.dropbox.com/s/jgmv3u9hgsi8nju/Sonnet%20from%20J.B.Fanshawe%20to%20B.Bennett.mp3?dl=0)

* * *

Plato claimed that Man was made as two:  
Four hands, two faces, souls joined from the start;  
Four eyes to gaze upon the world, four ears,  
Two beings wrapped around one beating heart.  
A man of Science must countenance heresy  
(I cite Copernicus - Galileo too)  
To order his world in ways that most describe  
The reason that he sees, the evident Truth.  
Our double hearts orbit the same Sun,  
Our bodies split (four hands, four ears, four eyes);  
And yet I see in you a kindred love;  
As one man, kindred pair from pair abscised.  
If love can’t be reduced by being shared,  
We may yet love him better being paired.  



End file.
